


The Good Peanut Butter

by florahart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint likes to take care of Phil, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, pairing only if you squint, peanut butter disagreement, shut up I like sap, they just haven't figured out their feelings yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: All Phil wants is a squishy, smooth, undifferentiated-throughout peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?  So what is this superchunk nonsense in Clint's kitchen?





	The Good Peanut Butter

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier today I said on tumblr: Prompt me. Wyomingnot promted Clint/Coulson, creamy versus chunky peanut butter. So here we are.

Clint was still rubbing his hair with a towel when he walked into his kitchen and stopped short. "Uh. Phil? Or... what's, um. Sir?"

Phil was scowling into the cabinet, which was only slightly more puzzling than what he was doing here in the first place; Clint was bad at adulting in at least a hundred and fifty-three different ways, but "keeping a supply of nonperishable food around" was a priority because he was planning to never experience food insecurity again, like, _ever_. So, sure, nothing gourmet or "fresh" right this minute, but Mr. Scowly here was the guy who ate those convenience store donuts like they were made of joy or something, and Clint thought that meant these were not his concerns.

Phil turned to look at him, gesturing at the four pieces of bread he had arranged on the cutting board. "My day was shit, there are five assholes sitting on my place that I have orders not to kill yet, I have a motherfucker of a headache that so far thinks painkillers are cute, Stark called up Reed Richards again today just to needle him and I know you know how that went, and all I wanted was a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while I crash on your couch and make you join me in watching the Amy Poehler and Nick Offerman are nice to everyone crafting reality show--"

"Okay, so this is a bad day comfort food visit?" What Clint _actually_ wanted in his life was a lapful of Phil on all the days that end in Y for no reason other than cuddles are fun, but he had been willing to settle for being a port in a storm for a long time. "Wait what? Nice to people reality show? That's a thing?"

"Yes. It's only a few episodes, but I watched the first one and they made quilts out of wood and then they had wine with the eliminated contestant."

"Good call. We are definitely watching that. But I totally have peanut butter and jelly, Phil. It's right there. Well, no, I mean, jelly's in the fridge, but I think I even have a _choice_ of jelly. And you found the bread, so...?"

"You only have _super chunk_ peanut butter," Phil said. He sounded kind of wounded about it.

Clint blinked. "Okay, but that's because super chunk is awesome? I usually have some smooth around in case I want to make peanut sauce or whatever, but I mean, for sandwiching? Texture is the best. Wait, is this why I am always out of smooth? Because you use it all?"

Phil hmmphed and pointed with the still-clean butter knife in his hand. "The point of peanut butter and jelly on white bread, Barton, is that it's all soft and salty and sweet, no texture, no irregularities, no chunks. Plus it's easy to spread consistently."

"...Spreading peanut butter is not a thing I ever thought I would see you suggest was complicated, Agent in Charge Phil Coulson. Also, you are extremely wrong, but I'll agree to disagree because of the headache." Clint reached and pulled the cutting board across the countertop and waved Phil away. "You go find this crafting show, and I'll handle the peanut-butter difficulties and rustle up some better painkillers." 

He waited until Phil went and sat on the couch and started poking at the remote, then hopped out onto the fire escape and went down one floor and knocked. "Hey Jamaal," he said to the kid in the downstairs kitchen. Jamaal was nine and very serious about his third-grade homework, which he did at the kitchen table every afternoon before supper. "Can you ask your mom if I can borrow some smooth peanut butter?"

Jamaal squinted at him, then got up, went to the cabinet, and stood on his tiptoes to get the jar on the second shelf. "You can _have_ it. Smooth is weird. Pay me back tomorrow with chunky."

"My man." Clint fist-bumped Jamaal and took the half-jar of Skippy, then went back up the ladder to his own place.

Phil had found the show and cued it up, but was waiting with his eyes closed and head leaned back. Clint put together the sandwiches, cut them in half diagonally, and took them to him on a plate with a glass of milk, then went into the bathroom to dig out the lavender-smelling rice bag thing Nat had brought him last year. He heated it up for a minute in the microwave and set it on the back of Phil's neck, then sat down to watch contestants glue things together as Phil picked up his sandwich. He took a bite, then looked at Clint. "This is creamy."

"It is."

"You were hiding your good peanut butter?"

Clint snorted. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly what happened. I expected you to show up here looking for something to make you feel better, and so I took away something you would want. Because that's how I roll." 

Phil took another bite. "Clint, did you go get me smooth peanut butter because I was whining about chunky?"

"Maybe. You think tea would help your head? Nat always says tea will help with--"

"Why?"

"Why does tea help?"

"No, why did you go get this peanut butter?"

"Uh. Because you were whining?" Clint pulled the blanket from where it was untidily draped over the arm of the couch and tossed it over Phil's lap. "And because you wanted it."

Phil ate the rest of his first sandwich while someone named Khiem described a project that was definitely biting off more than he should be able to chew in the allotted time, then offered Clint half of the second one. "And if I want that tea?"

"I'll go borrow from Simone," Clint said, leaning forward to get up.

"You can just say no, you know," Phil said, laying a hand on Clint's nearer thigh to hold him in place. "You don't have to buy my affection."

Clint shook his head. "Not what I'm doing, sir. I'm just giving you what you want."

"And if I want something you don't want to give?"

"Don't really see that happening, sir. Now let's watch people build things and be nice to each other. I don't know about you, but there's not enough of that in my life."


End file.
